


Overworked and Overwhelmed

by great_turkey_calamity



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Fainting, Henry gets hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Not Beta Read, TW: Emetophobia, Theyre engaged and very busy, alex takes care of him, davids just chillin, the boys need a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: Henry suffers the consequences of not sleeping for two days.Alex takes care of him.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 21
Kudos: 199





	Overworked and Overwhelmed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefridgelovesfood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefridgelovesfood/gifts).



> TW: injured Henry, emetophobia 
> 
> For Maja, my RWRB discord server wife 🥰

Henry is, undeniably, tired.  
  


He has been for several days now, in fact. 

It seems like he always has to be doing some sort of task, almost always without rest. He’s taken on more hours at the shelter; he feels like he owes it to them. They all come from such rough homes, disenfranchised and cast out by the people that are supposed to protect them most. He’s been meeting with social workers and parole officers and victim advocates— he’s got a rough bunch, that’s for sure. 

He’s also been working on a few new writing projects. An editor for a novel of illustrated queer poetry, a fact checker for a nonfiction piece on the gay scene in New York from the 1890s to now, as well as a piece recounting the Reagan administration’s response to the HIV/AIDS crisis in comparison to the Claremont administration’s response to COVID-19; Reagan allowed disenfranchised communities to suffer and lose individuals en masse, whilst Alex’s mother had enforced a six week lockdown, and announced that the United States had eliminated transmission of the virus within two months of learning about it.

There’s been another matter stressing him out; public appearances and wedding planning. Ever since he and Alex have gotten engaged, it feels like they’ve been averaging an interview every two weeks. Photoshoots, articles, press statements— it’s all so much that he can’t breathe. Then comes the actual manner of planning the wedding; how are they supposed to meet in the middle, with Alex’s Roman Catholic family, and his own grandmother being the head of the Church of England? He’s _certain_ heads will be rolling with that one. There are also issues with decor, locations, and guest lists; Alex has been suggesting that they should just elope and go into hiding instead. He finds himself agreeing with this notion.

Between planning, working a long shift, and sending a six-page bulleted list of facts and cited sources, he doesn’t think he’s slept for roughly forty-eight hours, and to be fair, he doesn’t think that Alex has, either. Alex is used to it, though, the twenty-four hour solid hustles and energy supplements and nodding off at the kitchen table whilst drooling on a pile of paperwork. He’s used to not sleeping for days at a time, to that deadweight feeling in his limbs and the creeping stab of pressure at his temples and just behind his eyes; he does some of his best work like that, thrives in that sort of environment. Henry is not used to it whatsoever, and can feel himself subtly losing his grip on things. 

He decides to take a shower fairly that morning; it only makes the pressure in his head feel worse, making him feel much more sluggish. The person looking back at him in the mirror is an absolute mess— heavy black bags around his eyes and skin far paler than usual. He definitely should have made an effort to sleep more. 

Everything feels wrong. Henry is shaky, and he feels lightheaded— there are dark spots clouding his vision. The world around him feels like it’s spinning. He imagines he would be panicking, if he weren’t so exhausted. He feels like crying, but it’s such a distant, out-of-touch notion.

A scenario: Henry slowly reaching out and turning on the faucet, his intention being to wake himself up by pressing a cold, wet washcloth to his face. Instead, his body gives out as soon as he hears the rush of water, he bangs his head on the sink’s countertop— hard— and promptly blacks out.

Henry wakes up several different times.

In one instance, Alex is hunched over him, patting and cradling his face. He doesn’t know where he is, or what’s going on, for that matter, but Alex is there, so he assumes that he just fell asleep and Alex is being a good boyfriend and checking in on him. He sounds strange, but Henry chalks it up to a long work week and lack of sleep. He reaches for him, and gives him a gentle squeeze, before falling back asleep. 

In another instance he’s coherent enough to notice that he’s been moved to a white, sterile-smelling room. He feels nauseated, and his head is absolutely killing him. He can feel someone with their chest against his back, pushing his hair back. He tries to ask what’s going on, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he vomits down the front of his sweater. He shuts his eyes tight at another wave of unyielding pain in his head, and can feel himself starting to cry. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” Alex coos, although he’s doing very little in terms of hiding his immediate stress. Someone else is helping him out of his sweater whilst Alex keeps him sat up. “You’re okay, Henry. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

He gets all of his tears out— and his energy— before he falls asleep once again. 

The third and final time that he wakes up, he finds himself on the couch, in the living room at home. David is sprawled out on top of him, and he’s been weighed down by about half a dozen blankets. He feels more rested, but God, he can feel his heartbeat in his head.

He hears rustling around in the kitchen, and the shuffling of footsteps.

“Baby,” He croaks. A few minutes pass, and nothing comes of it. “ _Baby_ ,” He says once again, as loud and with as much vigor as he can muster. All the noise in the kitchen stops.

“Just a second!” Alex calls back, and Henry sighs, shutting his eyes as he reaches down to pet David. Things seem calmer now, less hectic than they did earlier in the day. Alex doesn’t have his nose buried in a book or paperwork— in fact, he’s in his pajamas when he comes out of the kitchen. His glasses are on, and he’s he’s holding a huge cup of water in one hand, bottle of acetaminophen pills and jar of VapoRub in the other. It’s a nice change of pace. Wordlessly, he helps Henry sit up, throw pillow tucked beneath his back as he leans against the arm of the couch. He occupies the space next to Henry, sitting facing him. Alex’s face is mostly neutral, but there’s this upset look in his eyes that Henry doesn’t enjoy whatsoever.

“Hey,” He whispers.

Alex kisses the tip of his nose. “Hey.”

“What happened?” He finds himself asking. He wants to brush a strand of hair out of Alex’s eye, but he knows his arm could never make it that far, so he settles for a hand on his thigh instead. “I don’t— I don’t really remember much. Remember throwing up on myself,” He chuckles, and it only serves to make his headache worse. “But not much else.”

Alex hums. “Water first. Medicine, too.”

Henry’s complicit, taking two extra strength Tylenol pills and letting Alex help him drink the entire glass of water; he’s certain that he could have done it on his own, but with the look on Alex’s face, he has made the decision to stay silent. He has to ask questions when he busts out the VapoRub, though.

“What are you doing?” He asks, giggling as Alex smears the jelly-like, menthol-scented substance on his temples and forehead.

Alex shushes him gently. “It’ll help with your headache.” He explains. There’s something closed off about him, and it concerns Henry. He reaches out for him, wrapping his arms around his waist when he doesn’t reject his advances.

“What’s wrong, hmm?” Henry asks, and feels Alex shift in his hold. “What happened?”

  
“I’d noticed that you’d been in the shower for a really long time,” Alex starts, fixing his glasses. “Like, going on an hour and a half. So, I thought that maybe you’d reached your limit— which is completely understandable, I was too— and went upstairs just to check in on you.” He explains. “I heard the sink running, but I didn’t hear you in there. I thought that was weird, so I opened the door. You were laying there, and your head was bleeding.” He explains, and Henry can see that upset expression pouring out of his eyes and into the rest of his features. “I called Cash, and came over as soon as possible, and we took you to the hospital. They said you fainted from fatigue and dehydration. They had to give you fluids and stitch up the gash in your forehead.” He continues, sighing. He seems to be going through something emotionally.

“Christ,” Henry breathes, grabbing Alex’s hand in his own. “Love, I am so, so sorry for frightening you like that. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head when you found me there.”

Alex shakes his head profusely. “Don’t be sorry, it’s my fault.” He insists. “I never checked in on you, just let you keep going and going and—“

“Hey,” Henry says, soft and low. It makes Alex pause. “It is not your responsibility to watch over me and coddle me all the time. This isn’t anyone’s ‘fault’— we have so much on our plates right now. You’ve got a huge court case coming up soon, and I’ve been working more, and between wedding planning and all the mundane press obligations; we’ve been at our limits for weeks now. We were both way overdue for something dramatic to happen, anyhow.” He assures Alex, feeling satisfied when he gets a huffy laugh out of him. “We’ll just have to do better about taking breaks when we need it, okay?”

Alex nods, and some of the tension from within him seems to have been let go; his shoulders aren’t raised, and his jaw is no longer clenched. “Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

Henry smiles. “Give me a kiss?”

Alex rolls his eyes, and indulges him anyways.

After clearing their schedule for the next two weeks, with little to no resistance from either party, their evening dwindles into a slow, gentle lull. Henry’s been letting Alex baby him— he can tell that he still feels bad, even though he shouldn’t; Alex has been refilling glasses of water and swapping out blankets every half hour. He lets himself be coddled and cradled, sinking into over-protective comfort, burying his face into Alex’s chest when his pain hits him the hardest. 

Within the hour, Alex is shoveling caldo de pollo into Henry’s mouth by the heaping spoonful, preaching about its magical healing properties as he shoves chunks of meat and vegetable stubs into Henry’s mouth.

“What’s so special about it?” Henry asks, swallowing a mouthful. “‘S just soup, innit?”

Alex looks scandalized. “It’s not ‘ _just soup_ ’, Henry. This was my bisabuela’s recipe that she perfected back in Mexico— she lived in Campeche.” He explains. “Caldo de pollo, VapoRub, and Sprite are, like, the elixirs of the Chicano world. There’s some sort of spiritual science goin’ on when they’re combined; they can sure just about any sickness.”

Henry smirks. “I’m not sick— I have a concussion.”

“Frivolous details.” Alex says, tutting at him and lifting the spoon back up to his mouth. “Just for that, you’re eating a second bowl. Doubt my traditional healing food, jackass.”

  
Henry snorts. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Alex shoves his shoulder, affectionate, light. Henry’s glad that he’s starting to ease up a bit.

They’re laying on the couch together, half asleep, watching _The West Wing_ on the flatscreen with David at their feet, when Alex’s phone starts going off with CNN and Twitter alerts. 

On reflex, Alex reaches for his phone, but Henry intercepts it, going into his settings and turning off all notifications except for his messages, calls, and emergency alert.

“What—“ Alex starts, but Henry shuts him up with a quick kiss.

“Consider this my version of babying you,” He tells him, shutting his phone off and placing it back on the little end table beside the couch. “You get too caught up in the world around you to give yourself a proper rest— you’ve gotten the same amount of sleep as I have this week, just about. You’ll be up all night if you start looking at the news, and you deserve a good night’s rest.” He insists.

Alex is quiet for a moment, before smiling softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, you dork.”

“I love you too, you messy thing.”

Alex rolls his eyes, before cozying into his side, and pressing play on the next episode.

They’re both snoring within the next fifteen minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus


End file.
